I Wish I Thought of This Sooner

Good news, people: I have survived my first ever barrage of college finals. It was a harrowing ordeal. I'm still in therapy from having taken Chemistry 101 and that, as I frantically corrected the African-American Literature final paper that I put off doing until the last minute even after being given an extra twenty-four hours to finish it due to snow, the fire alarm was pulled. That's when I wept. No, I will risk the fire, you crazy people! Don't you know my paper is due in seven minutes?!

I'm home now. And I'd like to forget that week of my life. What are these finals you speak of? I never even took any classes! Really. I'm focusing on the aroma of freshly-baked brownies that I squeezed out of a tube. Pillsbury rules. They have taken my brownie experience to a new level in that they have made brownie batter a similar consistency to cookie dough. I'm also thinking about how I shall once again read for pleasure, which I haven't done effectively since 4th grade or so due to the Nazi-lead organization that claims to be the American school system. How dare they assign my reading! And there's also the fact that I have pretty much decided to become a famous slam poet. Step 1 in this process will be to actually write a slam poem.

Anyway, I came up with the best idea earlier. It happened in the shower, of course, because all good ideas start there (you can bet the dude who invented clapper lights was in the shower when inspiration struck).

FASHION ADVENT CALENDAR! AHHHHH! WHOOOO! YOU GET VASELINE! AND YOU GET VASELINE! WHOOOOO!

So, like, for the next whole less-than-a-week, I will update every day with a special little Advent calendar fun-treat! I will give a link to something fashiony and awesome along with some of my own comments. And maybe next year I won't be able to stupidly not think of something so obviously rockin'.

Enjoy!

Advent Calendar Fun-Treat: December 19th

This is a double-breasted coat. This is a black double-breasted coat. Boring, right? Wrong! This coat is made of cashmere. One-hundred-percent cashmere. God, if I wish I were a non-slutty Paris Hilton so I could actually afford it. Damn you, Paris.